


a heavy heart to carry

by bergamot (madocallie)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crimson Flower Spoilers, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/No Comfort, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madocallie/pseuds/bergamot
Summary: “The last time we were together - we revolutionized the world. A decade later, the fact that we accomplished this still astonishes me....She was the reason we came together. And she is the reason we are here now.”The Black Eagle Strike Force says goodbye.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Bernadetta von Varley, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Ferdinand von Aegir, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary - Relationship, Minor Edelgard von Hresvelg/Bernadetta von Varley (one-sided), this fic is equal parts gen black eagles fic and edeleth-centric fic.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 175





	a heavy heart to carry

* * *

**Petra**

* * *

The wooden door creaks as Petra quietly enters the front hall of her Nuvelle residence. With a small sigh, the queen of Brigid lets her leather travelling pack slip off of her back. It falls to the wooden floor with a soft thud and a puff of pale dust. 

When Petra last visited the quaint seaside village, it was with the intention to return to Brigid. Though the war between the Empire and the Church finally came to a close, other difficulties arose. Her grandfather fell ill. Both her family and her people needed her guidance more than ever. 

Nuvelle served as a point of contact between Fódlan and the archipelago, a trading spot where Brigidian sailors once hawked their wares long ago. In the new peacetime, Petra could easily find a boat heading home. But for all of the village's conveniences, the queen secretly dreaded spending the night at one of the many rickety inns sandwiched nearby the port. When the inns’ guests weren’t scuffling or arguing with one another, they stared at her; eyes bared, and lips curled into unpleasant grimaces.

Thankfully, the Emperor of Fodlan would never let a war hero suffer. When Petra next returned to the village, it was straight to an elegant little residence of her own-an Imperial reward for her bravery in battle. 

“I know that you intend to improve relations between our countries,” she said, “So I hope this will help you achieve your goals.” 

Because of her, the young queen made a pleasant journey home. 

Yet, Petra had returned to Fódlan.

The emperor— 

No.

 _Edelgard_ was gravely ill.

For a while, Petra suspected that Edelgard’s health was failing. Though the emperor always evaded the subject in their occasional meetings, her trembling, once-strong hands and gilded cane spoke loudly and clearly about the state of her body. 

A letter that arrived the previous week confirmed Petra’s suspicions. The message was brief, scrawled in inky strokes that sprawled across the parchment. 

_Petra,_

_Edelgard isn’t well._

_Please visit if you can._

_-Byleth_

Petra was never especially close to Edelgard. Yet despite the cruelty of the Brigidian queen’s history with the Empire, Edelgard had always looked out for her back at Garreg Mach and as part of the Strike Force.

Now, Petra feels she must repay the favor. 

She clasps her hands together, and begins to whisper. 

“I, Petra, give you my prayer. Spirits of Earth…”

* * *

burden

* * *

_I’m sitting outside, drumming my fingers against my knees. The day is beautiful, and light pours into the room through the large glass windows, gently warming me up._

_But right now, the pressure is unbearable. I feel like I’m about to collapse into myself. Each time I think I’m used to having a heart again, it pounds against my chest, sending waves of nausea through me._

_I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve just heard. What Hanneman and Linhardt are probably telling her right now. Linhardt will probably shake his head sadly, and Hanneman will give her that wistful look - one that I have learned people give when they remember a pain they’ve experienced before._

_She’ll probably respond as she always does - calm, collected, reserved. She’ll definitely plan for the future as soon as she can. But I don’t know how she’ll react once we’re alone together. I don’t know what to expect from all of this, and I’m scared._

_I’m treading in fear and dread when the door opens with a creak, and she steps out, eerily quiet. I look up at her. Her face lacks any readable expression._

_Softly, I murmur, “El…”._

_She turns, and slowly, she settles beside me on the chaise-longue. Her gloved hands are neatly draped on her lap, but her fingers clasp and unclasp themselves rhythmically._

_Carefully, I fold her into my arms, letting her head settle into the crook of my shoulder. I don’t say anything, but gingerly run my hand through her soft white hair._

_I can feel her shaking. Her breaths are slow, but shallow, and she won’t stop shaking. I hold her closer, and I feel tears begin to stain my grey overcoat._

_A flood of emotions overcomes me. There are a few that I recognize: sadness, anger, anxiety. The others are so complicated that I can’t give them names. I don’t think they even have ones._

_I want to scream through the halls, to the world around, to the sky above so the goddess - or whoever else is up there - can hear me._

_“Why her? Why now? Hasn’t she been through enough?”_

_It’s unfair._

_It’s so unfair._

_It’s too unfair._

* * *

**Caspar**

* * *

“It’s been a while since we’ve last visited, huh?”

Caspar smiles as he looks at the nearby village. To him, it still has that quaint rural charm he’s oh-so fond of.

“Uh-huh,” Linhardt replies nonchalantly. “Honestly, I expected it to be more…”

“Different?”

“Yeah, different.”

“Just makes you think about why those two chose to move here, huh?” 

Linhardt nods, humming in affirmation. He briefly gestures to his and Caspar’s belongings, unceremoniously piled on the dirt road where a carriage had dropped them off. With a grin, a nod, and a triumphant “Oomph!”, the shorter man hoists their luggage onto his shoulders. 

As the pair makes their way into the village, Caspar notices that Linhardt is unusually quiet. Of course, he knows that the scholar was never the most amicable of people. If his best friend had to choose between a sunlit nap and one of the many raucous balls that nobles their age hosted, he’d pick the nap without question. 

But the distance in his gaze and tight-lipped frown tells Caspar that Linhardt is preoccupied with something on his mind. Something like... when his research on Crests bore fruit too late. 

Right now, Caspar wants to say something - _anything_ \- to cheer Linhardt up. His gut, however, tells him that it won't end well.

So, he gives the scholar space, and gives himself some long-overdue alone time.

Caspar can’t concentrate on the little rows of stone cottages that surround him, or the cobbled, misshapen pavement below his leather boots. He can only focus on the end of his current journey - a small villa tucked away in a nearby forest. 

He’s got a good hunch on what will happen next. After a night’s rest at a local inn, Caspar and Linhardt will reunite with the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force. There will be a lot of catching up to do, and plenty of cups of the professor’s delicious tea to drink.

Then, inevitably, someone will notice that, somehow, the group seems a little smaller. That the house feels a little emptier. That the professor appears a little sadder.

He will not be looking forward to what follows.

* * *

yield

* * *

_“By the covenant between the red blood and the white sword…”_

_El carefully brings the golden circlet above the woman kneeling before her. She’s slow and graceful in her movements, but it’s not for tradition’s sake. She must be the strong and steadfast Edelgard von Hresvelg - even as she leans on a cane, or drops her teacup for the second time that day._

_“...and by the double-headed eagle upon your head…”_

_She raises the delicate ornament, before lowering it down to crown the next ruler of Fódlan. El takes a deep breath to compose herself, before announcing her chosen heir’s ascension to the throne to the world._

_“I hereby pronounce you the new emperor.”_

_Packed within the throne room’s vast halls of marble, the crowd roars with excitement. Adrenaline courses through my veins, but I stay still._

_As the cheers die down, El takes another deep breath. She's told me many times that she wanted to step down from the throne. But her hesitation, the weight of every word that she had recited again and again before the coronation, the duration of the ceremony… it all reminds me of how momentous a decision this was for her to make._

_Her own coronation was nowhere near this long._

_“Are you prepared to take these responsibilities as your own?”_

_There’s another silence before the young woman below her makes her response. She’s highly aware of the significance of her answert - not just to El, but to the rest of the country._

_“In accordance with the ancient covenant, and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy… I swear that upon this throne, I shall use my reign to continue leading Fódlan to a new dawn, achieving peace for all.”_

_El smiles softly at her successor, and gestures for her to rise. The young woman - a commoner of great wit and talent, no doubt - turns to face the crowd as their new emperor._

_I witnessed a thousand-year system come to an end._

_Now, I witness a thousand-year dynasty come to an end._

* * *

**Bernadetta**

* * *

As soon as Bernadetta enters her room, she makes a beeline to the bed furthest from the hallway. She knows Petra and Dorothea will follow shortly, and for a split-second, the young noblewoman feels the urge to burrow herself underneath the mountain of woollen blankets draped on the bedframe. 

She pushes that temptation aside. Over the years, her instinct to cower at everything and everyone has been dwindling. Of course, Bernadetta still _prefers_ to stay indoors - but she no longer shrieks at anyone who approaches her. 

Besides, Petra and Dorothea have been friends with her for a long time. There’s no reason for her to suddenly be afraid of them now.

So, the young noblewoman decides to occupy herself. She listens to her roommates make their way up the inn’s sole staircase, the narrow steps creaking under their feet as they climb. Carefully, she pulls a small, leather-bound book out from her travelling bag, and opens it. 

She leaves through the pages, and comes to one littered with sketches. Bernadetta’s illustrating her own books now - and these little drawings were how she honed her craft. With a small smile, she traces a finger across the many intricate pictures of animals, buildings and flowers.

She flips back a page. And then another page. And then another, and another, and another, until the pages whirr by her fingertips, and the drawings within them grow older and less defined. 

Suddenly, Bernadetta notices something within the book, and stops. 

The young noblewoman finds a series of portraits. Initially, she struggles to identify the person in her drawings. But as soon as she catches sight of that familiar horned crown, Bernadetta mentally smacks herself. 

It’s Edelgard after Edelgard after Edelgard… drawn one summer day, during a conversation in the Imperial gardens. While Edelgard basked in the gentle sunlight, Bernadetta secretly sketched her - eyes closed, smiling softly - against a backdrop of carnations opening in bloom. 

She remembers how her cheeks burned when Edelgard took notice . How Edelgard slowly rose from her garden chair to have a look, and how she smiled when she saw who the drawings were of.

“Bernadetta,” she said, “Have you ever thought about drawing for children’s books?”

Bernadetta’s face ached from blushing for the rest of the day. 

Even now, the young noblewoman feels the heat rush to her cheeks yet again. But now, its warmth comes with a dull ache in her chest. Something is gone now, and she sorely misses it. 

...Bernadetta sorely misses _her._

Her eyes sting and her vision blurs as she snaps the pages shut. 

Then, with a tiny sob, Bernadetta curls into herself, cradling the little book tightly to her chest.

* * *

lull

* * *

_It’s been about a month since we moved here. Back when I was a mercenary, I travelled a lot around the country - so I knew this place would be good for El when I saw it. It’s to the southwest of Enbarr, and nearby the sea too. We often go to the beach together, but El’s cane sometimes slips in the soft sand… She’s always frustrated when it does. I can tell from the furrow of her brow each time we make our way back._

_When we can’t go to the beach, we usually stay around the house. Since El was really happy whenever she visited the Imperial rose gardens, I thought that she’d like living in the woods. And she seems calm lately, surrounded by all sorts of flowers and trees._

_Right now, she’s at her desk in the living room. Before we moved out of the palace, Manuela and Linhardt told her not to overwork herself. But El was El, and she insisted on advising her heir’s handling of Fódlan’s affairs - from who she appointed in office to whom she married._

_Manuela and Linhardt didn’t say anything after that. The tone of her voice alone convinced them that trying to change her mind was a fool’s errand._

_Currently, I think she’s advising on romantic affairs - the new emperor wishes to spend her life with “a lovely seamstress from Derdriu”. Personally, I don’t know if El is the best person to ask for relationship advice - I might’ve asked someone like Dorothea or Ferdinand instead._

_But from the hasty scribbling of her black feather quill, I can tell that El’s passionate about guiding her heir along the right path. Her writing may be a bit messier lately, but her words are still filled with wisdom and thoughtful consideration._

_I walk over the wooden floorboards to peer over her as she writes. I catch a glimpse of a story about me and her in her letter, and ask her which one she chose to mention this time._

_She stops writing to look up at me with a knowing smile, before pressing a finger to her mouth._

_Ah,_ that _one, huh? My cheeks glow with that increasingly familiar emotion - embarrassment. I’ll have to get her back tonight. Preferably in bed._

_But for now, I raise my arms, beckoning for her to come to me. She chuckles, and wraps her arms around me in an embrace._

_I squeeze her back, lingering in her warmth for as long as I can._

* * *

**Linhardt**

* * *

After an overnight’s rest at the local inn and an uneventful forest trek, Linhardt arrives at his destination - the door of Byleth’s house. With a sigh, he folds his arms and waits. Caspar, Bernadetta, Petra and Dorothea are trailing after him, and he’d rather not desert them - even if he grumbles every minute that they’re not there. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the group to reunite. They bring a bevy of presents with them - red roses, Brigidian delicacies, knitted knickknacks… Linhardt himself plans to gift Byleth some books on fishing, for he remembers how she loved to sit by the docks of Garreg Mach - waiting for the nip of a salmon, or perhaps a loach.

Once everyone is ready, the young scholar turns to the door and gives it a gentle, but firm knock. There’s a pause and a series of footsteps. The door opens - revealing the former professor herself. 

She wears an outfit that she bought after she moved to the countryside - a white, button-down blouse and black cloth trousers, coupled with a pair of handsome leather boots. Her long, blue hair is tied back in a ponytail, but a few wild strands fall out here and there.

Otherwise, Byleth looks as she did the last time Linhardt saw her - save for the wistful look in her eyes.

She greets him, and then leads everyone into the living room. There, Linhardt finds Hubert and Ferdinand standing around, porcelain cups in hand. He smells the faint aroma of tea and coffee, and for a second, the scholar wonders if Byleth has any tins of Angelica in store. Yet his attention is seized by the discussions happening within this room - from innocuous greetings to ongoing events in Enbarr and beyond. 

Linhardt cannot bring himself to talk. Everyone in the room seems cheerful, but a certain emptiness underlies their conversations - a temporary distraction to the real reason for their reunion. 

A reason that is, objectively speaking, his fault.

He could have researched a little longer, a little harder. Or at the _very_ least, he could have given a more optimistic report - give a little more hope even when he knew deep down that the outcome wouldn’t change.

But he didn’t. 

Now, Edelgard von Hresvelg is dead - her two crests having burnt her life away. 

More than ever before, Linhardt hates himself for failing to meet her expectations. For not being enough to save his friend.

* * *

enervate

* * *

_Lately, the weather isn’t great - so El and I are staying inside. In the living room, I can hear rain patter on the windows nearby. It makes a musical “plink, plink, plink” against the glass. I feel a chill run through my body as I imagine how soaked my clothes will get if I step outside._

_Meanwhile, El’s upstairs in our room. On days like these, she usually paints. The ones she shows me are usually about nature - the ocean, the forest surrounding us, the plants in our living room… I don’t know too much about painting, but I think they’re quite good._

_Initially, El wasn’t keen on honing her skills further. It wasn’t that she hated it - when she wasn’t dealing with documents, she often sketched on scraps of discarded parchment. It was just that as emperor, El didn’t want to be viewed as a daydreaming maiden. So, she locked her paintings away - hidden from the prying eyes of her less sympathetic ministers._

_Yet since we moved here, El’s picked up her palette and paintbrush again. Though her brushstrokes are wobbly and imprecise, she’s clearly passionate about her craft. There’s another room upstairs filled with her paintings - of all shapes and sizes. We don’t really know what to do with all of them - but for now, I treat them as mementos of our time together._

_Then, I hear creaking floorboards - a cue for me to make my way to our house’s narrow staircase. When I get there, I see El begin to climb down each and every step, clinging to the bannister to balance herself. I extend my arms to catch her, but she gives me a semi-serious scowl - silently saying, “How many times have we been over this, Bel?”_

_I lower my arms again, and my heart sinks._

_After a long time, El finally reaches the bottom of the staircase. She sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose. The paint on her fingers smears on the skin there, but I say nothing - she’s embarrassed enough as-is._

_Her expression softens. She says something she’s said many times before: that she appreciates my assistance, but wants to do things by herself. As always, I nod my head in understanding._

_But inside, I wonder how long this can continue._

* * *

**Dorothea**

* * *

While the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force makes their way to the burial site, Dorothea trails behind. Normally, she’d rush to catch up with them. Yet, right now, the young diva needs time to herself. 

Grief is nothing new to Dorothea Arnault. From her mother’s death in the slums of Enbarr to the casualties of the war, it has always been a recurring theme in her life - no matter how much she tries to mask it with beautiful jewellery and enticing performances. 

Today is just another reminder of how all-encompassing it can be.

Dorothea yearns for one more private conversation with her Edie. Like always, they’ll catch up with one another in the garden - where only the flowers can listen in on them. 

Dorothea will talk of her soaring career as a playwright, and the former emperor will congratulate her on her success. Then, Edie will tuck a strand of bone-white hair behind her ear, and quietly mention how beautiful her garden's carnations looked that day. 

They will continue to chatter until the sun tucks itself under the horizon and stars begin to freckle the night sky. And then, only then, will they give each other one last, long embrace, before they both return to their usual lives.

The young diva tries not to think about what lies ahead for her, for her friends, for Byleth. A tiny fragment of her prays that this is all a very vivid and unpleasant dream. If she pinches herself hard enough, she will smell Brigid’s calming ocean airs once more.

Petra will be there for her. 

Edie will be okay.

But as soon as Dorothea rests her fingertips on her cheek, she catches sight of something up ahead - something that the rest of her former classmates gather themselves by. As she moves closer and closer, she makes out the shapes of seven chairs. Seven wooden chairs - which she quickly realizes were taken from the cottage. 

Each holds a red carnation and a small sheet of paper. From the choice of flower alone, Dorothea can’t pretend this is a dream for much longer.

The songstress approaches one of the chairs to gingerly pick up one of the sheets. When Dorothea turns it over, she recognizes the looped “l”’s and the rotund “o”’s of the handwriting she often found on her school assignments. As she tries to ignore the smudges and watery stains, she wonders how long it took Byleth to pen each one.

Her eyes stinging, Dorothea lowers the note and sighs. Then, she quietly settles into her seat, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

* * *

torment

* * *

_In the afternoon, El and I go to the field nearby the village. We haven’t been there in a while. As pretty as it is in the summer, it’s really hilly - so journeys up and down are tiring for El. But she insisted on having a picnic there, so I decided to treat her._

_I’ve packed some things that she’ll like: a bundle of peaches, some candy I bought from the local market, and a couple of salmon sandwiches. There’s also a small canteen of wine - but I’ll likely end up drinking all of it. El gets very sleepy after she drinks._

_I’ve also brought her easel today. Normally, I wouldn’t bother - especially with everything else I’m carrying right now. But El thought that today's weather provided a lovely opportunity to make a painting. Besides, I couldn’t back out of her request: we played a game of rock-paper-scissors. Guess who lost?_

_As we scale uphill, I trail behind El - keeping a close eye on the movement of her feet and her cane. Once we both reach the summit, I open the easel with a little muscling. After that, I put up a parasol to keep El safe from the sun._

_She thanks me with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Then, she takes a canvas out of the cloth bag she’s carrying, and places it gently on the easel. As she opens up her box of paints and brushes, I set up our early dinner._

_There are a lot of nice things about setting up a picnic._

_The comforting feeling of sitting on a woolen blanket._

_The clinking of plates, knives, and forks as they’re taken out of the wicker basket._

_The delicious smell of fresh peaches._

_The sound of a sickening cough and something dripping onto the grass-_

_My head snaps up._

_El’s holding her mouth. She’s pale. There’s blood. Blood dripping out between her fingers, red soiling the green blades of grass. She leans forward, using the hand that isn’t covering her mouth to grasp for the easel._

_But she misses. And she tumbles to the ground._

_I lunge to catch her. I yell her name. She doesn’t respond. I pick her up. She doesn’t respond. I leave everything else behind. I go down, down, down the hill, making a run for the house. She doesn’t respond - even as I fiddle with my keys and force the front door open._

_The next few moments go by in a blur. By the time my mind stops racing, El’s tucked into bed. She’s pale and clammy, and though she’s breathing, she’s not moving._

_I run my fingers through my hair - once - twice - three times. I breathe out. I gnaw on my knuckles. I want to slap myself. I want to cry. I want to pinch myself and find out this is all just a very bad dream. I want to do so many things at once, so, so, badly._

_In the end I do nothing but bite my fingernails to the quick._

* * *

**Ferdinand**

* * *

Once everyone else settles into their seats, Ferdinand slowly makes his way up to the altar, a paper clenched in one of his fists. He holds his head high - trying to uphold that air of confidence that once came so easily to him. 

When he gets there, he turns back to face his former classmates. But he tries not to focus too hard on them. Instead, Ferdinand props up his speech - one he has spent countless nights correcting and rearranging. He’s obviously not satisfied with the result. After all, he’s writing about someone he’s compared himself to all of his life. How could anything he says be satisfactory?

Regardless, the young prime minister begins his eulogy with a loud, introductory cough.

“The last time we were together - we revolutionized the world. A decade later, the fact that we accomplished this _still_ astonishes me. 

Were I seventeen again, I would’ve probably highlighted my own achievements. But I have grown older and wiser - and it would not be noble of me to put myself above the true instigator of this feat.

She was the reason we came together. And she is the reason we are here now.”

Ferdinand pauses. He feels an indescribable pressure loom over him - a cascade of sorrow and longing that causes his eyes to sting and his throat to clench. The prime minister lowers his head and takes a deep breath. When his emotions temporarily ebb, he looks up again, and continues.

Ferdinand talks about Edelgard. 

He talks about meeting her for the first time as a child - an aloof, serious young girl versus a pompous, cheerful boy. 

He talks about his, admittedly, one-sided rivalry with her - drawing a few chuckles and groans from the guests. 

He talks about how she helped him grow as the current head of House Aegir, and how he, in turn, had challenged and shaped her views. 

Ferdinand talks, and talks and talks until there really isn’t much left for him to say about the former emperor. When he finally finishes a lifetime’s worth of storytelling, his voice is achey and hoarse - and for the rest of the day, he’ll barely utter anything above a whisper. 

Silently, he scrunches the eulogy in his hand, and makes his way back to the audience. As the young minister seats himself once more, he feels his heart sink and the emotions flow back - an overwhelming well of emptiness.

With a quiet sigh, he buries his face in his hands.

The ink of his written words starts to dribble down the crumpled paper.

* * *

hollow

* * *

_I don’t remember much of my childhood - but I've seen the night sky since I was small. While my father set up camp, I would stare at the many dots of light that were scattered above us. I didn’t really know what they were - but I liked looking at them. They were very pretty, and strangely comforting._

_Tonight, I stare up at the sky again. I now know that those dots are “stars”, but I’m still not really sure what they do. I’ve heard some people say they’re souls who live beside the place where the Goddess dwells - the Blue Sea Star. But other people think they’re balls of light that remind us that we’re not alone._

_I’m not really sure which one to believe. Either way, they’re still pretty._

_I languidly point to one, reddish dot in the sky. “I like that star. It reminds me of you, El.”_

_El’s leaning against me, swaddled in a knit blanket that Dorothea brought over some winter ago. “Because it’s small and red, right?”, she whispers faintly._

_I hum in reply._

_Since that accident, El’s too tired to do most things now. Her brow’s been furrowing so much that she’ll probably crease it for good._

_I’m the only other person living with her, so I take care of her. When she wants to go down, I carry her. When she wants to eat, I bring food to her. Her hand shakes violently when she uses her cutlery - but she hates being spoonfed, so she does it herself. And so forth._

_I’m not sure how much longer El will be in my life. Seeing her now reminds me of how that day is getting closer and closer._

_El trusts me to keep on going after she’s gone. She thinks I’m very strong - both inside and out. Every time she says this, I smile and nod._

_But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for losing my family again._

* * *

**Hubert**

* * *

There’s a little break after the eulogy. While most of the Strike Force stays behind, Hubert makes his way to the burial site. It’s partially out of tradition - though Hubert loathes to admit it. Ministers of the Imperial Household managed their emperors’ affairs through birth until death - and in this regard, Hubert is no different. 

It’s the last time Hubert will ever see Edelgard. 

She chose this site - a clearing in the tranquil woods that surrounded the cottage she once lived in. Hubert is reminded of how fond she was of nature. Back at the palace, his lady often wandered through the Imperial garden, enjoying the warm Adrestian weather and the scent of fresh roses wafting through the air. 

He approaches her casket - made of wicker, with the lid fully opened. As he inches his way closer, Hubert’s heart hammers furiously. The minister is all-too familiar with death, but seeing his lady, unmoving, is another matter. He doesn’t know what mixture of ghastly emotions will surface, he doesn’t know how he’ll respond, he doesn’t know how to face so many frightening unknowns… 

...

Hubert has never seen Edelgard look so peaceful.

For a second, she seems like she is sleeping undisturbed, carnations delicately clasped in her hands. He notices a small strand of her pale hair, slightly out of place. The minister extends his hand to gingerly tuck it behind her ear, half under the illusion that she will stir and wake once again..

He doesn’t feel any warmth.

Only then does Hubert accept that Edelgard is truly gone.

He thinks of when she is buried. He thinks of when the plants and insects will eat away at her skin, her hair, her flesh and her bones. , Hubert thinks of how the emperor he once served will be forgotten over thousands of years, save for the land that houses her corpse itself. 

Hubert is not a sentimental man.

But that night, he will weep quietly.

* * *

**✿**

* * *

_the sun hasn’t risen yet, but it’s morning_

_my light lays next to me, under sleep’s grasp_

_i wish i could tell her goodbye_

_but as i am i cannot utter a sound_

_imperfect as i am, i am not unhappy with this close to my tale_

_there are far worse ways i could have met my end_

_than living in a small cottage in the forest_

_and knowing the joy of being loved_

_even after i’m gone, i know i will be remembered._

_by loyal ministers and politicians,_

_by passionate scholars and warriors,_

_by gregarious playwrights and queens,_

_and by talented noblewomen._

_as they have trusted me to be strong for them_

_i trust them to continue to be strong for each other_

_to my light, who lays beside me - i send a silent message:_

_i’m glad that i could walk with you_

_i hope that you continue to shine over people’s lives_

_as you had with mine._

_i know you will be okay_

_my friends will be there for you_

_as you were there for them_

_with the very last of my strength, i give her a small smile_

_and gently thread my hand through her hair,_

_my fingers, burnt and scarred, tangling in those soft, blue strands_

_there’s a small sound_

_and her eyes slowly open_

_to meet mine._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> it's uh... been a long time since i last wrote something, huh? 
> 
> sorry about that... ideally, i'll fix that soon. >_>;;
> 
> but yeah, this was a journey and a half to complete. i got really writer's blocked around dorothea's section, and was slammed with a bunch of schoolwork/personal projects/horrible worldwide disasters - so this was left on the backburner for a while. 
> 
> i'm glad it's out now for everyone to read, though. yay!!
> 
> (thank you to ana, kr and ori for betaing this!)


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